


the gods are cruel

by forpeaches (bluecarrot)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fingerfucking, First Time, Implied/Referenced Incest, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex, Vaginal Fingering, sorry it’s canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-18 07:04:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19329541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/forpeaches
Summary: He should have just asked her.Brienne, will you please sleep with me, please?Ser,he’d say, andplease.She liked courtesy.





	the gods are cruel

**Author's Note:**

> written 21/22 June 2019, because i fell asleep in the middle.

“Please,” she’d said — or had that been him? “Please, please,” and while she kissed him he unlaced them both, clumsy with one hand, and tugged down her trousers and she did let go of him then and he thought again  _No_ — that quick sharp fear she was denying him, she wasn’t wanting him, he would _die_ if she told him no. He would fly apart.

He knew she wanted him. Thought she did. He was _reasonably certain_ that she did, he thought she wouldn’t allow him in her rooms at all, as drunk as he was — as drunk as he was pretending to be — unless ....

He should have just asked her. Brienne, will you please sleep with me, please? _Ser,_ he’d say, and _please_. She liked courtesy.

But he couldn’t really just ask her to fuck, could he, she wasn’t a tavern wench he could have for a copper and a smile —

Why _hadn’t_ she been born a tavern wench? Why was he born to a kingdom? Truly the gods were cruel.

Oh, how Tyrion would laugh at him. He deserved to be laughed at. Because he was too desperately hard to remove his trousers and still keep any sense in his head, and too frightened to do anything more than keep kissing her, afraid if he let her speak she’d say —

“Please, Jaime,” she said.

And that time he had to stop.

It took all his courage to open his eyes and look her in the face. He’d never before thought himself a coward. He dragged his gaze up, up from the meeting of her thighs to her breasts and then to her face and oh this was a mistake, a mistake, he was going to finish just looking at her, he was like a damned boy with his first —

She looked — steeled. Determined. Afraid? She was never afraid. He couldn’t let her think he was hesitating over _wanting_  her, he couldn’t ...

“Please?” she said, and put his hand at her breast.

Well.

But he still couldn’t move.

“I need your help,” he told her, and bless the wench for her long arms and quick hands, she had him unlaced and bare in a moment — and the only evidence she understood what she was looking at was a hot flush on her cheeks, and the quick upbeat of her heart under his palm.

If he moved at all it would be to push her down and push inside her and just — just live there inside her body forever.

So he didn’t move.

She kissed him. “Jaime,” questioning.

At least it wasn’t _my lord_. But he didn’t like that tone in her voice, like she still wasn’t certain. He had been so afraid of himself lately, afraid how he felt and what he wanted were clear and plain as daylight when he looked at her, couldn’t everyone see it?

Not everyone. Even together like this, naked together, she wasn’t sure of him.

He’d change that. “Ser Brienne,” he said: and _oh_ there was that smile. “Brienne, lay down.”

Another miracle: she did what he asked. And looked up at him: _Now what?_

He lay down too, next to her.

She blinked, she’d expected ...

_Do you know what it is like? he’d asked her once._

_It’s rather like horses do, she’d said. Or dogs._

_Men are not dogs._

_She shrugged: I’ve seen men at it and they look much the same._

He was not a dog. He kissed her again, slow, taking his time to spite the bit of him that screamed for greedy haste. _She is a maid, and a lady. She is_ _Brienne_ _, this is_ Brienne _._

And they wouldn’t have this again — their first time.

 _He_ might only have this once, gods knew. He’d do his level best to make her not regret it, even if ....

She touched him then, drawing a slow line down his chest, lingering at his waist, rubbing a thumb over his hip, disturbing the taut hair at his base before she lost courage and reddened and looked away.

It was too much. He moved atop and she gasped aloud, stiffening, expecting —

Instead he settled on his useless right side, shifting weight, and permitted himself the pleasure of looking at her.

Gods, he missed his hand. One wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough, it wasn’t fair to only have one hand and one mouth and one tongue to touch and test and taste.

She smelled of the forests — like the woods after rain, musty and damp and secret with years of silence. It was strange, so strange, he was used to Cersei, sweet sister who scented her wrists and thighs and lips with roses, who lay under him and said —

No. He would not think of her, he would not he would _not_. He bit down harder than he meant and Brienne let out a cry and wriggled away, out of his reach.

No.

He crawled on top again, covered her, and her face distorted.

No. 

Touch that face. _Brienne_.

She kissed him.

She wasn’t very good at it — sloppy, unfocused. Had she kissed people, before this? He’d never thought to ask. But she learned quick, moving over his neck and finding spots that made him gasp aloud, he’d have gotten harder if that were possible, pressing flat her tongue to taste him.

Her mouth on him. Her mouth and and hands and her body, long and lean and heavy as a man’s, hard as man’s, everywhere but that one vital spot, she was pressed on _him_ , and her voice saying  _Please, Jaime._

He wanted to tease her about it. Say _Lost all your courtesy now?_ or _That is_ Ser _Jaime to you,_ but teasing her in other ways was more interesting. Still ... “You’re talking too much,” he told her.

She blushed. “I’m sorry, I — I’ll be quiet —“

He didn’t want that either. Almost regretfully he shifted weight to his elbow ( _damn_ them for taking his hand, didn’t they know he would be permitted to touch her one day) — but he had one hand left and he and put it there, through the rough curls and between her thighs, against the softest bit of her, where it was already ...

 _“Jaime,_ ” she said.

One finger, then two.

She shuddered all over and clutched him.

Not good enough. His thumb found what it wanted and his fingers moved and he reminded himself to be slow, be gentle, she was a maid still — barely — and he would not hurt her, he would _not_.

Good intentions were forgot when she cried out aloud.

He froze. “Did I hurt you, did I —“

 _“No,”_ she said, and rolled them both over.

He thought that he should have done this long ago, maybe back in the Riverlands, a man could do quite a lot in chains and with two good —

“Why did you stop?”

Too much _talking_. He’d put an end to that. She didn’t want him to stop — very well, neither did he. So he used his hand until damp turned to dripping

_(you smell of forests, you smell of streams and woodlands and forgotten places, how could I have gone so long without knowing the way of you, how could i have lived all my life until now)_

and she was clutching on to his wrist, eyes shut and making a noise that from anyone else he’d name a whimper, and she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He stopped moving to stare.

Her eyes flew open and he wanted to laugh, would not, she wouldn’t understand it yet, but she was blinking like she’d just woken and couldn’t find her focus: “Why do you _stop_?”

Thick tongued, words stumbling. Already? By gods, he’d make her forget her own name.

“I haven’t even started,” he said, and rolled them over again.

**Author's Note:**

> i need to stop writing fic on my phone.


End file.
